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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27888004">In the Woods Somewhere</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/blamethemusk/pseuds/blamethemusk'>blamethemusk</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Blood, Bottom Castiel (Supernatural), Bottom Castiel/Top Sam Winchester, Closeted Castiel (Supernatural), Closeted Character, Coercion via threats, Demon Sam Winchester, Extremely Dubious Consent, Kidnapping, Light Bondage, M/M, Master/Pet, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Religious Guilt, Rough Oral Sex, Sexual Coercion, Spit As Lube, Top Sam Winchester, fantasy depiction of non-consent</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:06:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,878</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27888004</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/blamethemusk/pseuds/blamethemusk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing finished opening his shirt and stepped back to admire the stretch of skin it had uncovered, running fingertips over Castiel’s chest. “Are you sure?” It asked. “I’ll let you live. I make no promises about letting you go.”</p><p>Castiel sobbed again. He was half senseless with terror, didn’t want whatever damnation this was that the thing offered him, didn’t want this, no…</p><p>But God, he didn’t want to die. Not here. Not like this.</p><p>Face painted in blood and tears, he nodded.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>In the Woods Somewhere</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The events herein are absolutely not consensual and are presented as fantasy only. Sam is not a good person in this story, whether he realizes that or not.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Castiel didn’t know how long he had been in the forest, dangling like a worm on a hook, but it was long enough for the sedative to have worn off. His bound wrists, his shoulders and his calves burned, stretched taut as he was forced on his toes for so long, and his head cleared enough for him to get a look at the dark woods around him, to see the realities of his precarious situation, to regret not fighting his kidnappers harder. </p><p>But it had all happened so fast. One moment, he’d thought he was alone. Next, he was overwhelmed and outnumbered, tossed unceremoniously into the back of a van with half a dozen other half-conscious people already having the worst days of their lives. The hows and whys of it escaped him. What possible reason would someone - much less a group of someones - have to tie up and abandon a handful of random nobodies in the woods?</p><p>He simply didn’t understand. He was beginning to worry he wouldn’t understand until it was too late.</p><p>The sedative, it seemed, had also worn off enough that Castiel was beginning to feel like he was absolutely fucked.</p><p>There were others. The same others from the van, maybe. Maybe more. He heard at least four or five different people in the distance, screaming. “Please, someone!” and “Help! Help me!” rang through the night like mantras. There was little urgency - they’d been left alone, he assumed, like him - but they moved through level tones to increasing desperation. Then, increasing hopelessness. It wasn’t long before someone was crying loudly enough for the wind to carry the sound far and wide.</p><p>A scream cut the air. Castiel’s blood ran cold and his head shot up. It was a woman. Panicked. Urgent. A shrieked “no, please!” and a noise of animal terror and then…</p><p>And then nothing.</p><p>And then it was quiet for a long, long minute.</p><p>Someone, somewhere else started shouting for help again with renewed fervor. Another followed suit. They must all have heard what just happened. They must all <em> know. </em>It didn’t tell them why they’d been taken, but it told them something far more pressing - that they weren’t expected to survive until dawn.</p><p>Castiel’s heart pounded in his chest. He trembled, as much as his position allowed him to tremble. Others called out, begging for salvation. One man screamed for his god. Castiel took the cue and began to pray, silently, terrified of attracting whatever thing had caused that woman’s screams. But something told him God was not there that night.</p><p>
  <em> Hail Mary full of grace... </em>
</p><p>Another call for help rose to panicked terror, to pain, and went quiet. Then another.</p><p>Maybe if he stayed silent, it wouldn’t find him. If he just stayed silent, and still. </p><p>
  <em> --the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of-- </em>
</p><p>There was a noise out in the brush. Castiel’s head snapped around to search for it, but the light of the moon wasn’t filtering through the trees enough to help. He inched around on his toes to put the place from which the sound had emanated in his line of sight, and fixed his gaze on the darkness beyond, stock still.</p><p>He didn’t know how long he kept his eyes fixed there, scrutinizing the blackness beyond. Sometimes he thought he could see something shift, impossibly black against the blackness of the night. Sometimes he thought he’d gone crazy with fear and paranoia.</p><p>He couldn’t breathe.</p><p>When it came again, the rustling came from the other side of him, and he spun on his tether as best he could. His breath caught in his throat.</p><p>A figure. Unmistakable, moving towards him.</p><p>He hoped against hope this person was the answer to his prayers, sent by God to deliver him from this torment and not sent by the devil to enact whatever violence it had already done to the others. But as the figure - the <em> thing </em>- stepped into a shaft of moonlight, he knew he’d lost that coin toss.</p><p>It was handsome. A Satan of Italian marble rather than a grotesque beast. Tall, with a cut jaw and soft waves of dark hair framing an angular, pale face.  But in spite of the mask of beauty, it made no effort to hide its origins. Thick horns grew from its temples and curled around his head like a crown. It wore a fitted black suit over what Castiel initially thought was a deep crimson dress shirt, but the dark stain spread up the skin of his throat, caked on and black in places, and splashed spots of red across its chin and cheeks, smears of it across its mouth. Blood. It was doused in the stuff - and it was fresh.</p><p>But the worst part, the part that made something in Castiel break, were its eyes. Solid, jet black eyes with no pupil or iris to speak of. They were simply a void, hungry and open.</p><p>The figure was no man. Castiel didn’t know what breed of hellspawn it was, but it was no man.</p><p>“Oh God,” he choked. He couldn’t take his eyes off the thing. His knees would have buckled under him if he hadn’t been strung up.</p><p>The thing smiled with one side of its mouth, evidently finding the reaction funny.</p><p>“No,” it said. “Not quite.”</p><p>The thing advanced on Castiel without a hint of haste. Long, leisurely strides like it was just taking in the night air on an evening walk. Castiel took one step back, away from the thing, and another, but the tension on the rope around his wrists pulled him up short and his toes could hardly scrape against the dirt on a third step. He tried to take it, anyway, too afraid to stop trying to get <em> away, please, away </em> and his stomach dropped as he slipped. He swung on the rope back towards the thing, letting out a yelp of panic. He was almost chest to chest with it, then. His eyes stung. He couldn’t breathe.</p><p>“Please,” Castiel whispered. “Please, no. I don’t know why I’m here - <em> please.” </em></p><p>“Shh.” The thing reached out to touch him, placed its hand delicately on his cheek and ran a thumb over the ridge of his cheekbone. It was wiping away a tear, he realized. But leaving a slick trail of <em> something </em> across Castiel’s skin in the wake of its thumb. The only thing he could smell, suddenly, was iron.</p><p>“Please don’t hurt me.”</p><p>“No, no,” the thing said softly. Its second hand joined the first, on the opposite cheek, cradling Castiel’s face. Without pupils, he couldn’t quite tell, but it seemed to be examining his face carefully. “What a waste that would be.”</p><p>He sobbed in relief.</p><p>“I mean, that was the plan,” the thing continued. “You’re <em> here </em> to be consumed. But my servants have brought me so many sacrifices tonight, and you…”</p><p>It tightened its hold on his jaw, turned his face this way and that to scrutinize him. Castiel wanted to throw up. He let it happen, anyway. The thing ran its hands down over his throat, his chest, stained his shirt crimon before settling its grip on his sides, just above his hip bones.</p><p>“You’re too beautiful to waste,” it concluded. “Why would I tear you up and leave you in your entrails, here, when I could take you home? Wouldn’t that be best for us both?”</p><p>Castiel swallowed. He felt like he understood each of the thing’s words, individually, but its meaning was foreign and obscured like dream logic.</p><p>“What?” He asked.</p><p>The thing was already starting on Castiel’s shirt buttons, and it didn’t pause or even slow as it spoke. “It’s up to you, of course. If you’d rather be livestock than a pet…”</p><p>“No!” The answer came so fast and so loud that Castiel startled himself. “No, please. Whatever you want. Just let me go, please.”</p><p>The thing finished opening his shirt and stepped back to admire the stretch of skin it had uncovered, running fingertips over Castiel’s chest. “Are you sure?” It asked. “I’ll let you live. I make no promises about letting you go.”</p><p>Castiel sobbed again. He was half senseless with terror, didn’t want whatever damnation this was that the thing offered him, didn’t want this, no…</p><p>But God, he didn’t want to die. Not here. Not like this.</p><p>Face painted in blood and tears, he nodded.</p><p>“Yes?” The thing asked. “You’ll be mine, and I won’t hurt you?”</p><p>“Yes,” Castiel choked out.</p><p>There was a ghost of a smile on the thing’s lips, as it cradled Castiel’s jaw in one wet hand. He caught a glimpse of pointed teeth before it ducked in to claim his lips in a kiss, shockingly sweet for the taste of rotten eggs on his tongue and the terrible twist in his stomach. It pressed at his lips, demanded entry and Castiel complied helplessly.</p><p>When their lips parted, there was no warning before the thing reached up, grasped the rope that tethered Castiel to some limb of a tree, high above in the canopy, and snapped it with barely a thought. He fell from the balls of his feet to his heels and screamed as the exerted muscles in his legs lost the meager support that had kept them going this long. They crumpled under him like wet paper. He would have ended up sprawled haphazard across the forest floor if it weren’t for the thing catching him with one strong arm around his waist, and he flopped against its chest with his still-bound hands trapped between them. He was still crying, silently. He couldn’t seem to stop.</p><p>The thing hushed him again. “Don’t cry,” it said softly. “Earn your keep and there’ll be nothing to fear. That’s what it means to be mine.”</p><p>He nodded against its chest, and the thing let him slide down its body, gently lowering him until he was kneeling in the dirt. He couldn’t bear to look up at his captor, but it cradled his chin and turned up his face anyway, brushing his hair from his face.</p><p>“Have you done this before?” It asked.</p><p>It didn’t specify what it was talking about, but Castiel had an idea.</p><p>It occurred to him, then, that he was making the wrong choice. That what he was being offered was not a desperate chance at life, but nothing less than martyrdom. To be an apocryphal child of Saint Agatha or Saint Belina. That if he truly had Christ in his heart, truly believed in rewards in heaven, he’d gladly die before letting this thing, this <em> demon, </em>so much as touch him, let alone… let alone know him. Own him.</p><p>“I haven’t...” he said weakly. “I haven’t… I’m not…”</p><p>“Not what?”</p><p>“I’m a Christian.”</p><p>The demon actually laughed at that. It laughed, tsked, and made a soft sound of fondness as if Castiel was nothing less than a confused puppy. It opened the fly of its slacks one-handed. “Don’t worry,” it said. “Christians do all sorts of things they’re not supposed to.”</p><p>In the darkness, he could see little more than the outline of the cock the demon pulled through the zipper. It was large. Larger than his own, anyway. Castiel didn’t really have a frame of reference - he’d never been up close and personal with another man’s sex before, though he’d imagined what it might be like.</p><p>Maybe that imagining was what he was being punished for, he thought. Why else give him a twisted, funhouse mirror version of… of… well. Maybe some temptations were too strong for a simple weekly confession to correct. Maybe God was the kind of father who would make you smoke the whole pack if he caught you with cigarettes. “See, Castiel?” His Lord said to him. “See what you’ve done to yourself? Is this what you wanted?”</p><p>The demon took some time to stroke itself to full hardness, during which Castiel had fallen into his own thoughts. He was snapped back to reality by a thumb slipping between his lips, gently coaxing his mouth open. He could taste the blood on the thing’s skin, and it made him gag, renewing his terror and his tears.</p><p>“Come on,” it said. “Come on.” And it fed its cock between his lips.</p><p>He whimpered. The head slid across his tongue. He tasted sulfur, iron, and the salty taste of skin somewhere underneath the thick flavours of violence. The demon pushed an inch further and its cock touched the back of his throat. He gagged and pulled away, chest heaving in panic.</p><p>He couldn’t do it. He wasn’t going to be able to do it. It had looked so easy in the videos, the ones he’d had to confess over time and time again, but now that it was in front of him he was useless, helpless.</p><p>“Shh.” The demon shushed and comforted him again. “It’s okay. Here, just relax. Go slow.” It gently pulled him back towards it, back into position. “Just take the head. Close your lips around it.”</p><p>Reluctantly, Castiel obeyed. He leaned in towards it, let the demon guide it back inside. He held it awkwardly in his mouth, stock still and unsure what to do with the cock once it was in there, as the demon rocked it in and out by no more than an inch, never letting it go far enough into his throat to make it a struggle. Castiel sucked, experimentally at first, and a soft sigh from the demon told him he was behaving as expected.</p><p>“Good boy,” the demon said. “Where’s your tongue? Rub it with your tongue.” He did. It forced him to taste it that much more, but the stroking of his hair that it earned him eased his panic. He could do this, at least. Earn his life even if he couldn’t make himself accept the cock into his throat.</p><p>The demon spent some time letting Castiel mouth at his head, not pressing past physical comfort although the wrongness of the entire situation still weighed on him. It fisted what of the shaft Castiel couldn’t manage, stroking slowly in time with Castiel’s gentle sucking. Castiel even found a rhythm, felt the intuitive ebb and flow of the act and tried to take initiative. To prove he was worth it. He sucked the demon’s cock like his life depended on it, because he strongly suspected it did.</p><p>The demon made very few noises to indicate approval or disapproval, but its continued gentleness, even in vulgar acts, spoke volumes. It was patient, guiding him to fulfill its desires with a firm but careful hand.</p><p>“Breathe through your nose,” it said, after some time. “Slowly.” Castiel tried to look up, confused, but the demon gave no further explanation before solidifying its control over the blowjob and giving Castiel no space to escape as it pushed, once more, into his throat.</p><p>Castiel still felt the panic and the nausea, but when he tried to pull away this time, the demon kept a firm grip on him. It forced him to take it, one inch at a time. In, in, in, and then for a fraction of a moment it was choking him, and then it was gone. Forced brutally into his throat, it vanished entirely as quickly as it had come.</p><p>He gasped and coughed, spit and a thin pale fluid dripping from his lips. “I’m sorry,” he croaked, barely able to get the words out as his throat still spasmed and his airway felt like it was full of saliva.</p><p>“It’s alright.” The demon petted him. It sprung a deep well of shame as much as Castiel wanted to lean into the touch, for any semblance of comfort in this sea of horror and fear in which he was adrift. “You’re unbroken. Once you’re trained, it’ll be easy. You’ll see.”</p><p>“Trained?” Castiel asked. He hadn’t really meant it as a question, was just repeating the word that confused him the most. He felt himself losing his hold on reality again, not by chemical means as when he was kidnapped, but through sheer despair.</p><p>“You have a wonderful mouth,” the demon mused. It slipped its thumb into the space its cock had just occupied, ran the pad of it over his bottom teeth. “You can learn the technique later. We’ll have all the time in the world to shape you into something perfect, once we get home.”</p><p>“Home…” He was repeating, again. The word brought fresh tears to his eyes. “Oh, God. I want to go home.”</p><p>The demon’s brows knit together, and something around his inscrutable black eyes went soft. “You’re going home,” it said. “Your new home.”</p><p>Castiel just dropped his head in his hands and shook.</p><p>
  <em> Your new home. Your new home. You’re never going home again. You belong to this thing, now. A hole for this thing. Pet. Whore. </em>
</p><p>“Hey, hey.” The voice was gentle, pressing into Castiel’s consciousness and interrupting his gasps and sobs. A hand wrapped around one of his wrists and pulled his bound hands away from his face. He couldn’t even see through his tears, but he could tell the demon was bent to his level, kneeling beside him in the brush. It wiped at his cheeks, and then paused. Only then did it seem to realize it was smearing his face with blood, that it had been all this time. It lifted a corner of Castiel’s ruined shirt, instead, scrubbing at the mess that it had made of Castiel’s face. “Don’t cry,” it said.</p><p>The demon kissed him again. It was not the hungry, claiming kiss of before, but rather an almost chase pressing of lips that began on Castiel’s mouth, then his cheeks, his eyelids, his forehead. As it kissed him, its arms slipped around his body and held him close. When it finished kissing, it let Castiel curl into him and hide his face in its throat as the tears flowed unbidden. It rubbed his back, and over and over, it told him softly not to cry. “There’s no need for this. I’ll take care of you, you’ll see.”</p><p>When he’d calmed a little, enough that his sobs were few and silent and his breathing had evened out, the demon gently pushed him off its chest and laid him down on the earth, bending over him so its comfort and warmth was never far away. It unfolded him as if he were expensive, ornate wrapping paper, pressing his bound wrists to the ground above his head and helping ease his aching legs out from under him. It laid on top of him and kissed him, deep but soft, cradling his jaw.</p><p>Castiel let it. He opened his mouth for the demon, took the softness because it was the only good thing he had to cling to.</p><p>The demon broke away to work on opening Castiel’s pants, and Castiel let him. The demon dragged them over his hips, his thighs, and Castiel let him. The demon undressed him until he was naked from the waist down, only clothed from the waist up because his bound wrists didn’t allow him to struggle out of his sleeves, and when the demon took his cock in its wet hand he sobbed, half in despair, half with desperate wanting.</p><p>“I’ll take care of you,” it repeated, returning to its position lounging on top of him. It stroked him slow. Gentle. It kissed his neck. It soothed him into the touch and the rhythm and in spite of himself, in spite of his values and his fear and his faith, Castiel found himself drifting on it. He let the <em> softwetgood </em> feeling override his rational mind. Entirely helpless to stop it, he simply tried not to think too much about it. Tried to forget that this was being forced upon him. Forgetting, at least, let him accept the sensations the demon was giving him - and they were powerful sensations. He began to whimper and twitch his hips, couldn’t keep his hands where they’d been placed and wrapped his arms in a parody of an embrace around the demon’s neck. The demon smiled against his skin. “Good,” it said. “So good for me.”</p><p>“Please,” Castiel said, breathless and tight.</p><p>“Hm?” The demon hummed.</p><p>“Please, I need to… I’m gonna…”</p><p>But the demon let go of him, releasing his cock almost reluctantly and redirecting his hand to rub soothing circles over Castiel’s stomach. He whined in frustration.</p><p>“In a minute,” the demon answered. “The next part won’t be fun for you if you’re already spent.”</p><p>“Next part?”</p><p>The demon didn’t answer his question with words, but with action. It placed two fingers in its own mouth, sucked them wet, and they made a pornographic sound as they escaped from its lips. Castiel began to understand before the touch came, a gentle pressure behind his balls that slipped back, back, and the first wet press against the tight furl of his asshole had him gasping, not sure if he wanted to press into the finger or squirm away.</p><p>“Open up for me, love,” it said in his ear. “Press out, don’t squeeze in. Relax.”</p><p>Castiel tried his best. The breaching of the demon’s fingertip felt so foreign it seemed to set his body off kilter, and in spite of his best efforts he tensed from his shoulders, to his toes, to, unfortunately, his hole. The demon paused when it felt that, and soothed him with kisses until he opened back up again. It pressed in by fractions of an inch, whispering encouragement and distracting Castiel with its mouth the entire time until he felt the press of the rest of the demon’s hand against his taint - the long, thick finger had made it all the way inside.</p><p>The demon pumped the one finger in and out for a minute or two, removed it to spit in its palm to slick up the passage a little better, and soon the slide was easy, almost unintrusive. Even as a second finger worked him open, and a third, Castiel almost thought he could get used to this - as horrific as it was in concept. As much as he was a Christian, and should not be allowing it. As much as he knew, somewhere deep down, that he was being defiled.</p><p>“Ready?” The demon asked him, removing its fingers entirely and leaving him open and empty. </p><p>His stomach turned. He wasn’t sure. Was he ready physically? Perhaps. The demon was large, but patient. Emotionally? Spiritually? Was he ready to give up his life, his faith… to be condemned? Did he have to say yes? Couldn’t the demon just relieve him from the prison of that choice? It had already. Castiel knew he couldn't safely refuse, at this point, even if he absolutely wanted to. Asking him to give the demon permission now felt unbearably cruel.</p><p>“Does it matter?” He asked.</p><p>The demon seemed to consider a moment, tilting its head. “It might not change things,” it said, after some thought. “But it matters. You’re my pet - I should want you to be comfortable. Happy.”</p><p>Castiel barked a laugh - a little bitter, and entirely helpless - throwing his head back against the ground. He was crying no longer. He was empty of tears, empty of sorrow and terror. He’d become tired of fear, could only look at the face of the devil so long before it was just a face. Before he was just a man lying in the dirt, waiting to be fucked. Wanting to be fucked, though he hated himself for it. Hell was upon him already - his refusal to admit it didn’t change a thing.</p><p>“Are you comfortable?” The demon asked, following up his earlier declaration.</p><p>Castiel nodded. “Yes.”</p><p>“Are you happy?”</p><p>“No,” he admitted.</p><p>The demon seemed not to understand, eyes narrowing and brows furrowing. There was something animal behind the human face, something that didn’t seem to realize that Castiel was not, had never been, able to consent to it. Not when he’d been brought to it against his will. Not when the alternative was written in the blood stains all over the demon’s clothes.</p><p>“But you want this,” the demon said - an observation, not a question. </p><p>Not really. Not like this. Not here, and with this creature.</p><p>But he tried to forget all that. Because no was not an option. </p><p>He thought only of the sex, the touch, the temptation he'd spent his entire adult life denying. It took a long minute for Castiel to force out the whispered words, the broken admission of “I do.”</p><p>Satisfied with the response, the demon kissed him once more, almost joyfully, as it wrapped one wide hand around his thigh and made space for itself between his legs. “Beautiful,” it whispered, half to itself as its free hand adjusted itself, lined the head of its cock up with Castiel’s entrance. “So glad you’re mine.”</p><p>Then came the push.</p><p>Castiel had thought he was ready - physically, anyway - but the size of the thing’s fingers was incomparable to its cock. It was a shock to take, even slowly, agonizingly slowly, as the demon pressed in. It hurt, a little. He felt like the air was being pressed out of him, like if he inhaled fully there wouldn’t be room for the demon inside. It was wrong, he knew. It was foreign and strange and unnatural. It was <em> sodomy, </em> for Christ’s sake, with a <em> demon. </em></p><p>Yet, it was almost a relief.</p><p>Finally.</p><p>And he'd not been struck down by lightning. It hadn't torn him apart on an atomic level. Damned him, probably, but if <em>this</em> was damnation... perhaps he could learn to live with it.</p><p>It went slow. It rocked into Castiel gently, a little deeper each time, and when it bottomed out it was overwhelming, too much, but when it pulled out Castiel half wanted to be filled again. The demon rutted into him with increasing fervor. The unbidden noises of pleasure that it had held back thus far escaped it, moans and curses and hot breath in Castiel’s ear. It occurred to him that those were <em> his </em> sounds, that he’d earned them as much as the demon had earned Castiel’s own pleasure, and he was struck with a spark of pride even as his face flushed with shame. </p><p>“My good boy,” the demon breathed. “Does it feel good? See how I can take care of you?”</p><p>“Yes,” Castiel replied, without hesitation.</p><p>The demon returned a hand to Castiel’s cock. “Will you show me how good it feels?”</p><p>Castiel let out a needy whine before he could stop himself. He nodded. “Please. I want to, please.”</p><p>It only took a moment once the demon started stroking him. It tried to kiss him as he came, but Castiel couldn’t focus on using his mouth for anything but screaming his pleasure against the demon’s lips, howling into the night like he was being killed. He wondered if there were other sacrifices still out there in the woods - they’d probably think that was exactly what was happening.</p><p>Even as he came down, the sensation of being fucked wasn't unpleasant. The demon was chasing its own climax, but it was still in him, keeping him in the cold comfort of helplessness. Of the ownership that Castiel still hadn’t quite processed as his new reality. When the demon spilled inside him, biting softly at the skin of his throat with a soft groan, something about it felt final. Like the spilling of seed had truly completed their transaction - a life in exchange for servitude. There was no longer any going back.</p><p>He wondered if the demon would ever let him go. Someday, maybe. With a cold pit in his stomach, he wondered if he would still have the presence of mind and strength of spirit to choose freedom.</p><p>The demon kissed the bruise it had made, almost apologetically, as it pulled out. “So glad I found you,” it muttered. “Perfect. Perfect.”</p><p>Still entangled, they lay together on the forest floor for a time, recovering from the exertion. The demon kissed Castiel’s skin absentmindedly, like a habit, and Castiel felt the pull of exhaustion dragging him under, in spite of the cold and the aches of his ordeal.</p><p>“We’ll go home in a minute,” the demon said. “You’ll like it. I’ll take care of you.”</p><p>Castiel just hummed in assent. He still wasn’t sure he was okay with it - but he was beginning to see silver linings.</p><p>“I’ll have some things made for you right away, so you’ll feel at home,” the demon continued. “New clothing, for instance. Oh, a collar - what name should I put on the tag?”</p><p>The twist that revelation put in Castiel’s stomach startled him from answering right away. A collar. Lord help him. But, after all, he was a pet, now.</p><p>“Castiel,” he said tightly. </p><p>“Castiel.” The demon smiled softly. “I’m Samael.”</p><p>“Oh… Is that what would you like me to call you? Or…”</p><p>The demon laughed quietly. “Or what?” It asked. “Sir? Master?”</p><p>Castiel looked away, shame rising inside him. “I guess so.”</p><p>“Sam,” the demon said, after a moment of consideration. “Sam is fine.”</p>
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